


live and learn from fools and from sages

by HearJessRoar



Category: Blue Beetle (Comics), Booster Gold (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Aerosmith is also there, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Ted's crappy old van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23226448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HearJessRoar/pseuds/HearJessRoar
Summary: It's 3:46 am when Ted quietly loses his shit.Orthe grungy gay 90s boostle roadtrip of your dreamsor just my dreams, nobody asked for this
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	live and learn from fools and from sages

**Author's Note:**

> hi i started writing this three years ago and now I have cabin fever with nothing to do but finish my wips so here ive edited nothing at all ever goodnight
> 
> also shoutout to the boostle discord server with whom i have not interacted with in so long but i still think of them fondly

It's 3:46 am when Ted quietly loses his shit.

The Denny’s is surprisingly not-empty for how late (early?) it is, but he's pretty sure that at this point in the day, it's an unspoken agreement amongst humanity to not pay attention to the weirdo having a Moment in the Denny’s.

Booster is picking at his eggs benedict with disinterest, eyeballing the extra bacon Ted had ordered knowing full well that Blonde McPerfect Ass would snitch it.

Ted would like to claim that he's mathing out gas fill ups versus funds, but quite frankly, he's been staring at the same spot behind Booster's left ear for the past ten minutes.

Because, as he already knows, he is Losing His Shit.

Booster hasn't noticed, because Booster is busy making sure Ted doesn't notice him picking off Ted’s plate. Ted notices. Ted doesn't care.

What Ted cares about is figuring out  _ when in the ever loving fuck did I start wanting to kiss this idiot? _

This was supposed to be a good time. Not a Realizing Some Important Shit About Your Feelings time.

All Ted had wanted was to hit up every late-night breakfast place on the way to Omaha. Why did life insist on doing these things to him?

He groans, leaning forward with his elbows on the table to scrub at his tired eyes and rest his forehead against his hands. The cream formica table is scuffed and dull. Someone has carved a heart with too many jagged edges near the syrup holder.

Booster's fingers brush past his temple and Ted jerks, startled into sitting back up. Booster gives him a concerned look, the boysenberry syrup decanter he's just grabbed dangling from his fingertips.

“You okay, Teddy?”

And good god, Ted's never noticed before how soft Michael Carter’s eyes can be when he's concerned.

He clears his throat and tries for a smile. “‘course I'm okay,” his voice sounds just as scuffed as the table looks. “jus’ a little tired, ‘s all.”

“I can take over early if you want,” Booster offers, drizzling boysenberry over his short stack of buttermilk pancakes. “You don't have to do the whole leg to Des Moines, you know.” He pronounces it like Dez Moinz, and gets a dirty look from the trucker in the next booth.

“We agreed I'd get us to Des Moines and you could do the last stretch to Omaha.” Ted pointedly pronounces it correctly and Booster rolls his eyes.

“It's fine, Ted.” his smile is dazzlingly bright and Ted has to take a second to wonder when he'd befriended a walking talking toothpaste ad. “You look beat. Besides,” Booster's grin turns sharp and teasing as he cuts into his pancakes. “if you get behind the wheel and you're as tired as you look? We aren't gonna make it to Des Moines. We'll be in a ditch somewhere around Davenport.”

“We're in Davenport,” Ted protests.

“I know. That's what I'm saying.”

Ted makes a face, wads up his napkin and throws it at Booster's nose. It hits dead center and lands with a quiet  _ bloop _ in the syrup on Booster's plate. “I'm fine. It's what, two hours, two and a half at most?”

Booster primly picks the syrupy napkin off his plate, wrapping it in his own and placing it with his discarded plate of eggs. He looks about to say something snippy, but the waitress interrupts.

“Can I get that out your way?”

Her name tag says her name is Dale-Ann. She kind of reminds Ted of Tora, if Tora had permanent exhausted eyebags and a less skilled hairstylist. Still, her tired smile is kind and Booster beams genuinely back at her as he hands her his plate.

“Need a refill on anything, boys?”

“I think we're okay for now, Miss,” Booster smarms. Ted kicks him under the table. “Sorry about the napkin if it's stuck to the plate.  _ Someone _ likes to throw things like a toddler instead of talking like a grown up.”

Dale-Ann guffaws, hefting the bus bin higher on her hip as she drops the plate into it. “Don't worry about it. Holler if you need anything.”

Her sneakers make squeaky sounds against the linoleum as she walks away. It's the only real sound in the diner.

Booster has a mouthful of pancakes so Ted takes advantage of his preoccupation to point out, “Besides, you hate driving in the dark. We planned this out so you wouldn't have to drive at night.”

Booster swallows, nearly choking in his haste. “The sun’ll be up in like an hour, Ted.”

Ted gives him a last resort Look. It's as stubborn and deadpan as he can manage. Booster drops his fork on his plate with a clatter, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine. Fine!” he says, over dramatically gesturing. “But I'm playing the most bass heavy tape I own so we can _ both  _ stay awake. And alive.”

Ted sighs as Booster scoots out of the booth to go pick up their check. A different waitress drops off a box for Booster's uneaten pancakes as Ted's digging for his wallet to leave a few bucks on the table for Dale-Ann.

He walks out, keys in one hand and takeout box in the other. He hears laughter behind him as Booster pushes the door open to follow, and Ted rolls his eyes. Booster probably got Dale-Ann’s number just to prove he could.

He unlocks the van and climbs in, reaching over to pop the broken lock on the passenger side so Booster doesn't have to crawl through the sliding door.

He hands over the pancakes as Booster gets in. Booster makes a face.

“What?”

“No fork.”

“Really.”

Booster shakes his head. “It's fine,” he places the box at his feet. Ted notices in the dim light that Booster looks suddenly paler than when they'd been sitting in the diner. “I'm not hungry right now, anyway.”

Ted's heart sinks. “You? Not hungry?”

He throws the van into reverse, pulling haphazardly out of the lot. Out of the corner of his eye, Ted can see him shrink into himself.

“They recognized me,” he whispers, sounding small and sad and  _ oh no, Michael. _

He sounds the way he did when Ted had gotten that call, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

_ “Hey, Teddy,” _

_ “Booster? What's wrong?” _

_ He was quiet for a very long time. Ted could hear him trying to control his breathing. _

_ “...I did something bad, Ted. And tomorrow, everyone is gonna know.” _

And they had. The morning news had splashed his face all across the front page. Michael Jon Carter had been caught throwing games and reaping the benefits of betting on those rigged plays.

A nationwide scandal and no one had ever bothered to ask him why he'd done it. Three months later and Ted knew, standing beside him at his mother's grave. Michelle was still refusing to talk to Michael, but she'd reached out to grab his hand as their mother was lowered into the earth.

This trip through the asscrack of nowhere is supposed to be Booster's escape. And now some random dicks in a Denny's have brought it all crashing down again.

“Ted?”

He realizes he's gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles have turned bone white. Forcing himself to calm down before he wrecks his van, Ted glares hard at the road in front of them.

“They don't know you, Michael. They don't. Whatever they said-”

“I booked it before they could say much,” Booster mutters, popping open the glovebox. He pulls out a rubber band and fingercombs his long blonde hair back into a ponytail.

Ted doesn't understand how Booster can stand having hair past his shoulders in this heat. He suspects it's partially in the hopes that people won't recognize him as the clean-cut, disgraced football star he used to be.

Booster heaves a sigh, fishing in the backpack between their seats. He pulls out a cassette and slides it into the tape deck. For once, Ted doesn't bother giving him shit over his taste in music as the synth-heavy rhythm of Depeche Mode blares over the speakers.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel despite himself, and Ted has the not-entirely-unwelcome passing thought of what it would be like to kiss his best friend senseless with Depeche Mode providing them some background music.

He shakes himself slightly, hoping his face isn't as red as it feels and if it is, that it's too dark for Booster to notice.

Booster, for his part, has his elbow propped on the armrest of his seat and is staring disinterestedly at the road. Ted can see the golden ponytail in his peripheral vision, swaying close to his arm with the motion of the van.

The Interstate is far from empty, even at four thirty in the morning. Early birds in every timezone, apparently. And assholes, too. Ted swears at a sedan that cuts in front of him, but otherwise doesn't speak until Booster takes out the tape to flip it over.

The sun is up and shining in the weak, watery way of early summer mornings. Ted feels halfway hypnotized by driving when he says, “Those pancakes are going to be disgusting.”

Booster laughs, turns the volume down until Depeche Mode is a dull beat in the speakers. The bubble of tension in the van has burst, and Ted can feel the remaining anger he's been holding on to for the past half an hour melt out of him.

“You can have them.”

“Bleh.”

“You know and I know you're gonna eat them.”

“..... _ bleh.” _

Quiet settles in the space between them, but so much more comfortable than the last. Booster turns the volume back up as Ted mutters the names of cities written on roadsigns under his breath.

The tape clicks to a stop. Ted glances over to see that Booster, despite his insistence that he could and would stay awake, has dozed off completely. His head is cradled against the window and Ted just knows he's going to hear whining about the crick in Booster's neck for  _ days. _

And Ted hates himself because he can't find it in him to even pretend to be annoyed at that thought. He  _ knows _ Booster is going to complain, and he  _ knows  _ it's going to irritate the hell out of him, but for all the shit they put each other through, he's glad that Booster can be that way around him.

That he can be a cranky asshole who can't finish his damn pancakes and has drool starting to creep down his chin. That he doesn't have to give a fuck around Ted, not about the fact that his ponytail has gone frizzy, or that he's got a mark from the seat belt being pressed into his collarbone.

None of the buzzards who flocked around him in his glory days got to see him like this, and Ted feels a little twinge of smugness.

He jerks, pulling his brain back from autopilot where he's been cruising a good seven miles over the speed limit. Just in time, too. A police cruiser goes speeding past in the opposite lane, flicking the lights on once they're far past Ted's van. He nearly chokes with relief.

“You were barely speeding….” Booster mumbles, shifting against the window. “....such a Boy Scout sometimes…”

Ted scowls, deciding then and there that he cannot and will not put up with Booster bitching about his neck later.

He pulls into a parking lot somewhere on the outskirts of Des Moines. The sun isn't quite high enough to make it hot, but the humidity is a little stifling as he gets out to stretch. He briefly considers slapping a hand on Booster's window to startle him awake, but the creak of the other door renders the point moot.

Booster wanders around the van just as Ted is stretching down to touch his toes. He relishes in the slight burn of his calf muscles. Sitting for so long was the absolute worst, but for what he'd paid for these tickets, Ted would endure. 

The sun must be affecting Booster worse than it normally did. He's got a dusting of bright pink patched across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose when Ted straightens up to stretch out his arms. Must be that Midwest summer getting to him. Coast boy wasn't used to it.

“I think we'd better fill ‘er up before we go any further,” Ted says, swinging his arms down. Booster pops his neck uncomfortably and then nods at him. “Oughta be a gas station around here somewhere. Wanna swap spots?”

“Sure thing.”

Booster sounds strange and Ted wonders if his nap didn't make his melancholy over being recognized even worse. He tosses Booster the keys and slides open the side door to the van.

“You mind if I have a catnap for a bit?”

He makes a noncommittal noise that Ted takes as agreement, shutting the door and straining to pull the futon flat. He loves this shitty van, he does, but if Volkswagen wanted to make a camper, they should've made it easier to sleep in.

Finally it slides flat as Booster gets the keys into the ignition. “Be nice to my baby,” Ted warns, curling up around one of the eight pillows Booster had insisted on hauling along for the ride.

Booster scoffs, but if he says anything in reply, Ted doesn't hear it as he slips to sleep.

\---

Booster takes a hard corner and Ted rolls awake, blinking groggily at the midday sun shining through the back windows. He groans and rubs the grit out of the corners of his eyes.

“You awake back there?”

“We better be running from the law if you're handling my baby that way,” Ted grouses, crawling up to the passenger seat.

“Ah shaddup, Teddy. You're so cranky when you wake up.”

Ted ignores him and takes note of the outside world. “Jesus, how long was I asleep?”

“Long enough that I get to point at this sign here,” Booster does so, gesturing grandly at it as they pass below. “Welcome to Nebraskaland; Where the West Begins.”

Ted snorts. “Any state that spat out Johnny Carson is all right by me.”

Booster picks through the noon traffic, steady but hardly anything like what Ted had braved in Chicago and New York.

“This exit,” Ted says. Booster follows instructions,  _ for once. _

“You wanna go straight there?” he asks, and Ted has to restrain himself from making a joke about how he's not sure he can do anything straight anymore.

That's a Bad Idea.

A Hilarious Idea, but a Bad Idea nonetheless. 

“Ted?”

“Hm? Oh. Yeah, we'd better, I'm sure the general admission line is already around the block.”

He's not totally wrong. Parking isn't bad, but people are already sitting out on the walkway in the July sun. Booster is more of a ‘lean against the building’ type, but Ted stretches out on the concrete. He's slept on worse.

“Hey, you think if I dyed my hair, people wouldn't. You know,”

Ted cracks an eye open. “Recognize you as the star of the national scandal that rocked the country for an entire week?”

“...ouch.”

“Nah, Mikey. I hate to feed your ego, but the speed your hair grows, those gold roots would show up again in no time. You'd look like a skunk,”

Booster makes a noncommittal noise and shifts the way he's leaning.

“...Finally match your smell, though.”

Booster growls and kicks him playfully in the side. Ted yelps dramatically, curling around Booster's foot and refusing to let go as Booster tries to shake him loose.

It's not a terrible way to pass the day, all things considered. The weather is bright and just on barely on the cusp of being hot. Booster eventually retrieves his pancakes from the van, dropping the box on Ted's stomach when he sits down next to him.

He eats them with no small amount of eye rolling from Booster, blonde hair shining in the afternoon sun. He's had a pair of sunglasses on top of his head all day but tosses them into Ted's lap as he re-combs his ponytail.

“Motherfu-” Booster cuts himself off, looking annoyed. Ted can see why. There's a snarled strand of hair looped around Booster’s earring. He tugs uselessly at it and makes it that much worse.

“Hold still, you big baby.” Ted says, rolling his eyes as he sets down the box. He licks the remnants of syrup from his fingers and reaches for Booster's ear. Booster jerks back.

“Sticky!”

“Am not, now come here. Whiner.”

He loops the hair out and away from the gold stud (and if that wasn't a hell of a double entendre) and pulls the back off the earring. Ted carefully tugs the post out of Booster's earlobe and clears the rest of the hair away before clipping the thing back together again.

“There, see? You'd think I was gonna rip your whole ear off, the way you act.”

Booster's tugging at the freed strand, muttering something about syrup in his hair.

Beyond getting up to throw away the box and stretch a bit, there's not much to do but watch the sun dip further into the horizon. At some point Booster had pulled out a battered deck of playing cards but they'd lost interest in War after a few rounds. 

He's got Booster's sunglasses on far past necessary when they open the doors, and Ted nearly trips over his own feet trying to stand up. Booster swoops in and wraps an arm around his waist, steadying him into a brisk walk as the crowd starts to surge around them.

“Watch it, Teddy. These people’ll trample you for Steven Tyler and not think twice about it.”

Ted is on fire, and it has nothing to do with the low level sunburn he's acquired over the last few hours. He pushes Booster off him as they flash their tickets to the woman at the door.

“This is gonna be a great night, Ted ol’ pal. Just you wait and see.”

  
  
  


Well. Booster hadn't been  _ wrong, _ Ted thinks to himself, staggering as he tries to walk. He reaches out for balance and finds himself with an arm slung across broad shoulders. He’s on his tip toes now, and it isn't helping his balance problem  _ at all. _

He grins drunkenly at Booster. Booster gives him an equally sloshed smile. They’re both sweaty and sticky and  _ disgusting _ , but dammit Ted can't remember the last time he's been this carefree in his life. Midway through Joan Jett’s set, Booster had pulled a flask out of his boot, and man, was Aerosmith  _ amazing _ when he was too drunk to care.

“Got’a ge’ ta tha van,” he mumbles, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. “....is th’s way, yeah?”

Booster, helpful as ever, starts singing Walk This Way, horribly off key and out of rhythm.

They get there, stumbling along the way. Booster looks at him, suddenly worried. “Yer not gunna drive, righ’?”

Ted snorts and unlocks the van after a few tries. “Hell no.”

“Good. ‘ey, Teddy?”

Ted spins around to ask what, and loses his footing. At the same time, Booster reaches out and grabs his shoulders with both hands. Ted's not exactly sure at what point he missed the initial build up to it, but suddenly Booster's lips are on his and he's got his fingers tangled in Booster's ragged ponytail and he's pressed against the van and  _ oh shit oh shit oh shit. _

He Panics.

Shoving Booster away from him, Ted scrambles for the handle and forces the side door open. Booster, looking like a confused and hurt fish with his mouth open and swollen and pink and  _ shut up you drunk fuck,  _ makes a noise that conveys a bit of betrayal. Ted reaches behind him blindly, grabbing a fistful of the front of Booster's t shirt and pulling him into the van.

Booster stumbles, hitting his shins on the baseboard before getting the message. He slams the door shut and locks the van.

When he turns to Ted, he's barely visible in the light leaking through the closed curtains, but Ted can read Booster like a book.

Or he thought he could. His alcohol soaked brain is still processing the chapter in the Book of Booster entitled “Willing to Kiss Ted After a Fantastic Concert and Copious Amounts of Alcohol.”

It's not a  _ bad _ plot twist, Ted thinks, feeling incredibly off kilter.

“Teddy?”

And  _ shit  _ how can he look at Booster when Booster is looking at him like  _ that,  _ like Ted is the only glass of water he's seen in years, after a lifetime in the scorching desert?

“...s’okay, Mikey,” he mumbles, reaching forward to grasp at Booster's t shirt. He pulls him onto the futon, clumsy fingers reaching up to tug the rubber band out of Booster's hair. “s’alright, I know ya didn’ mean to…”

Booster cuts him off, cupping Ted's face with both hands and kissing him with a drunken ferocity that leaves Ted weak to the core.

_ Well shit. _

He buries his hands into Booster's freed hair, spilling through his fingers like slightly frizzy gold, and draws him closer. Their already precarious balance is shot and Ted finds himself tipping over and pulling Booster with him.

They land with a pained grunt and Ted's glad that Booster pulled away before he'd bitten him on the landing, but  _ oh fuck never mind  _ Booster's got his mouth on Ted's throat. Ted groans, and shoves him off. “No, no hickies.”

Booster's eyes are clouded with inebriated hurt and Ted can't have that. He props himself up on his elbow and pulls Booster back down by his collar. He shifts as Booster is pressed against him and  _ oh. _

_ Well then. _

Booster is clearly enjoying this as much as he is. He gives an experimental roll of his hips and Booster groans against his mouth. Ted breaks away, because he's still  _ him _ , even when he's completely hammered, to whisper into Booster's ear.

“izzat a gun in yer pocket or ‘re ya just happy ta see me?”

And Booster snorts, resting his head against the side of Ted’s neck. “...asshole…”

Ted presses a kiss to Booster's hair. “ya love me.”

And what he doesn't expect is the very broken “....sure do,” murmured against his skin. Ted freezes, feeling very sober as Booster suddenly gets very heavy against him.

“Boost?” 

No response.

“...Mikey?” 

Booster snuffles contentedly and god Ted could  _ cry,  _ the big jackass has passed out on top of him.

  
  
  


When he wakes up, Booster has shuffled to the far end of the futon and taken all the pillows with him. Ted stretches and sits up to roll his shoulders.

The freight train of pain that hits him squarely between his eyebrows is just barely undermined by the fact that he remembers everything about last night.

Ted scrambles off the futon, the one blanket that Booster had left him getting tangled around his ankles as he tugs desperately on the door handle. He heaves onto the pavement the second it opens and he's really not sure if it's the hangover or his raw nerves or both.

There's a hand rubbing circles between his shoulder blades and Ted glances back to see Booster with his nose pinched shut and looking more haggard than he is.

He grabs a loose water bottle that's been rolling around the van for who knows how long and rinses out his mouth.

“Breakfast?” Booster suggests. Ted groans.

The waitress doesn't so much as look twice at their haggard appearance and Ted figures that IHOP at two pm has the same unspoken rule as Denny's at three am; shut up and mind your business.

Booster's hangovers always manifest in the form of extreme hunger, and Ted feels nauseous again just watching him shovel waffles into his mouth. He picks listlessly at his french toast, reaching up every few minutes to sip at his water.

“How is it that you're the one that gets motion sick, but I'm the one who gets the barf hangovers?”

Booster shrugs, mouth full. His ponytail is haphazard, at least. That makes Ted feel a little better.

It also makes him want to mess it up even more, and Ted shoves that feeling way, way,  _ way  _ down where it'll never see the light of day again. Booster hasn't given any indication that he remembers last night and Ted absolutely is not going to bring it up first.

And it's almost like Booster is prodding at Ted’s nerves on purpose. He'd changed shirts in the van when they'd parked, and the dark blue crop top he'd pulled on was doing Ted’s anxiety zero favors.

Where did Booster get the right to call him a fashion victim when it was his abs flashing everyone with eyes?

He doesn't finish his meal, and doesn't bother getting a to go box for it.

The ride to the motel is silent, the atmosphere of the van still steeped with what happened the night before.

Booster stays in the van as Ted goes to check in. The gum-popping young woman at the desk looks him up and down, for once in his life, Ted doesn't bother to take it as an invitation to chat with her.

Booster's already got their luggage unloaded when Ted comes back, sunglasses perched on his nose and hair glinting in the full afternoon sunlight. With a dufflebag slung over one shoulder and a suitcase gripped in the other hand, he looks like some sort of ad for a travel company.

Ted makes sure the van is locked, picks up his backpack and lets Booster juggle both their suitcases as he gestures that he needs a hand free to use the key. He only feels a little bit bad about it.

When he opens the door, Ted can feel the weight of every crime he's ever committed in the face of god descend upon him, and he figures this is a just punishment. It's the only explanation he has for why this has happened.

There is only one bed.

Booster slips in past him, dumping both suitcases and his duffle bag to the floor. He also stares at the bed.

Then he shrugs.

Picks up his duffle bag.

And walks to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

Ted gapes as he hears the shower turn on. What did that  _ mean? _ They couldn't trade for two beds if Booster used the shower. He  _ knew  _ that. So clearly, the one bed didn't bother him, but  _ why? _

Either he remembers last night, and is assuming things without talking to Ted first, or he  _ doesn't  _ and that is So Much Worse because that means that he just doesn't care about sharing a bed with his best friend because he's never had to care before and-

Ted scrubs a hand across his eyes. Fuck it. Fuck It.

He sits down on the bed, running his hands over the ugly duvet, and waits.

The shower turns off. Ted watches the glowing red numbers on the digital clock. They've started to blur.

Minutes later, the door opens and billows steam into the overly air conditioned room. Booster has changed into a low-slung pair of sweatpants, running a towel over his hair.

Ted stares at his bare chest.

None of this is fair.

Booster is talking but he doesn't hear most of it, watching droplets of water eke from wet golden hair down, down-

"-the conditioner isn't so bad and-Hey Ted? Teddy?" Booster snaps his fingers. Ted startles.

"You in there, buddy? You look like-"

"Did you mean it?" Ted interrupts, hearing the desperation in his own voice. Even he isn't sure exactly what he means,  _ Did you mean to kiss me, did you mean to touch me like that, did you mean you loved me _ and his fingers dig mercilessly into the cheap blanket, feeling the polyester threads grit against his hands.

Booster looks at him for a very long moment. The air feels like it's humming with the tension rolling between them.

"Did you?" Booster asks softly.

He looks scared shitless, and Ted can't say he doesn't understand. His own heart is thundering behind his ribs.

He licks his lips. He nods.

And the wave of relief that washes over Booster is visible even from across the room. Ted doesn't know how he didn't see the tension across his shoulders, the weight Booster had been carrying around all day, until it had vanished.

Booster smiles, one hundred watts at once, and Ted gestures him over. Booster towers above him, stands between Ted's legs, and kisses him as Ted wraps his arms around Booster's hips to hold him there.

Ted pulls away first. "One bed, then?"

Booster huffs through his nose. "One bed."

Ted grins, tightens his hold, and pulls backwards with as much force as he can muster. Booster  _ shrieks _ , goes toppling over Ted, and slams face first into the mattress.

He pushes himself up as Ted is laughing. "You're the WORST! We were having a  _ moment!  _ And you RUINED IT."

"You love me."

And Ted regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth but then Booster's eyes go all soft and his cheeks and nose turn such a pretty pink.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." He murmurs. 

Ted swallows around the lump in his throat and reaches for Booster's face. "You're a sap," he says, pressing a kiss against still-damp golden hair, now hopelessly tangled. "You've turned me into a sap. I love you, too. Big stupid idiot."

It's not exactly the most romantic confession, sitting here on questionably clean sheets in a motel room that smells faintly of mildew, but quite frankly, looking at Michael Carter beaming up at him, Ted really can't bring himself to care that much.


End file.
